Y Parch Hosanhir has asked my good self to enpublish an exhaustion list of prayery to uplift and ennoble the youngsters of the villages and to prevent blindness. But I think one should be enough for now. And here is that one for now, a bedtime prayer for boys:-
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
Bless the bed that I lie on
And if I die before I wake
Please get my hand off my trouser-snake.
Words of wisdom Parch, words of wisdom. Yes.
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They've updated that for Catholic kids...
ReplyDeleteDear Lord don't smile on Father John,
Nor the bed he lay me on.
But tell me how your servant could,
Steal all the joy from my childhood.
Poor Father John has had to go
ReplyDeleteTwice fifty miles where we don't know
To preach God's word to a new flock
With fresh meat for his rancid cassock.
hmmmm. There's something not quite right with that last line. There's an extra syllable somewhere and I can't spot it - what a donkey!
They couldn't say that back in the day there were more Gospels than that!
ReplyDeleteMatthew, Mark, Luke and John and Philip...oh yes and Judas, Mary, Barnabas...look here we have Peter, Thomas, James too!
Ok, own up, which comedian signed this 'Q'?
To preach God's worst to his new flock,
ReplyDeleteFresh meat to catch in his cassock.
praps?
Its cooked I think? (3rd verse still awry though.)
ReplyDeleteDear Lord, don't smile on Father John,
Nor the bed he lay me on.
But tell me how your servant could,
Drain all the joy from my childhood.
Now Father John, sequestered hence,
In pastures new for his offence,
Will preach God's worst to his new flock,
Fresh meat ensnared in his cassock.
Each little lamb, with trusting eyes,
A toothsome treat, a wholesome prize,
Slips easily in to his maw.
No guilt, be blessed! Not after four.
He, cloistered in his little cage,
The lambkins seek this moral sage,
Their childish sins to wash away.
Confess, my child, you think your gay?
Or perhaps you touched down there
And know you're damned, your soul laid bare?
Now let me help. No. Dry those tears.
Your mother need not know your fears.
The trap is sprung and in they fall.
We've fallen once. (No tale's too tall.)
We're sinners, see? So too I am.
Hung for a sheep with this next lamb.
But, sins are washed away each time,
Quite resurrected, free of crime.
And was it not our Lord's great plea,
You'll suffer, kids, to come to me?
Curses.
ReplyDelete"...you're gay?"
"We, resurrected..."
Well, well, boys bach, Phil the Rimmer - quite the inventuellist aren't you, isn't it aren't you, siwr o fod, indeed wasn't it yes yn wir, aren't you now don't you know isn't it? yes indeed!
ReplyDeleteThe rhyming's tidy lovely but you seem to be suggesting a rather sinsiter aspect of the blessed holy gift of forgiveness, as if said Father John may have committed certain unmentionables he otherwise would have not!